


Within a Red Palanquin

by Origingirl



Series: A Flickering Sun [1]
Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Angst and Feels, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff and Angst, Humor, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-05-01 16:57:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19181986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Origingirl/pseuds/Origingirl
Summary: From the moment Sinbad appeared before him in his dungeon, Focalor felt he saw the sun for the first time. And here, in this spacious palanquin on his way to meet with representatives from the Reim Empire, Sinbad senses a change in the air around them since that day.





	Within a Red Palanquin

Focalor had him as soon as the djinns’ lips ghosted over his kings’ jaw with a promise of divine indulgence.

Folcalor is gorgeous in all aspects; his fluffy silkspun hair, charming wit, the way his body markings cascaded from chest to abdomen, the intense ochre hue of his eyes. But those lips needn’t do more than cast a smile towards Sinbad in order to leave the king yearning for more.

Sinbad has never shared a kiss with any of his concubines that could surmount to those he shared with his loyal djinn. Maybe it’s because Folcalor is a divine, ethereal being. Whatever the reason, Folcalor never failed to leave his king breathless. So, even though Sinbad knew it is a horrible idea because of the possibly being spotted through semi-sheer curtains while being transported via palanquin to meet with representatives of the Reim Empire, Folcalor eventually persuaded him.

The air entrapped by curtains became warm in the palanquin from harsh breathing and hot breaths in between slow, sensual kisses. Sinbad swore the wind djinns’ tongue has a mind of its own with the way it wound around his in a potently affectionate embrace.

Focalor is an awful tease. Although both knew there was no possibility of accomplishing anything other than kissing, that still didn’t stop the djinn from pressing his half nude form against his kings clothed one; moving tantalizingly, taunting him, daring him with burning lustful eyes to undress his other half. If it weren’t for their semi-public setting for a diplomatic meeting, Sinbad would have no doubt flipped Focalor on his back and risen to the casted gauntlet in those immortal eyes.

“Come, Sin.” Focalor spoke lowly between kisses, tone alluring and lips pressed beside his kings’ ear. The slow rhythm Focalor has been rubbing up against Sinbad changed to a gentle grind of hips. Shameless in his amount and volume of moans, Focalor moved back to Sinbads’ lips, swiping his tongue across the bottom and then the top. “You’ve experienced public scenarios such as this in a wide open space. Surely a little love in an enclosed, tightly knit area isn’t too much to ask.”

“Ah.” Sinbad breathed a light chuckle, attempting to hold up some semblance of a facade through this for the rapidly approaching meeting. “And here I thought I have been giving you ‘a little love’ since you decided to let yourself out.”

“How could I not have?” Focalor grinned. “Do you know how beautiful you look seated in this palanquin surrounded by fine drapery that cascades red, seductive light across your features?” 

“I’m certain you make a much better image of temptation, my dear djinn.”

Focalor blushed wildly at that. The two elements the djinn is most receptive to when it comes to his king are kisses and compliments, albeit they may be cheesy.

“Hush, you.” Focalor smiled warmly, placing a small peck to his kings’ cheek. “I cherish affection from my king in all forms, however,” Focalor paused to liter Sinbads’ neck and collarbone with gentle kisses and small licks before speaking again in a sultry tone against his ear. “If I can’t ravage you the old fashioned way here and now, I’ll ravage your mouth to the best of my ability instead.”

Sinbad couldn’t help the shiver of anticipation that wracked his spine. “I wonder how long you can sustain that promise.” He grinned, then suddenly swapped their positions, the unsuspecting djinns’ face morphing from seductive to sheer surprise. “Because gods know I could kiss you until the end of times.”

A heartfelt laugh erupted from the djinn, dissipating into a light giggle. He wrapped his arms around Sinbad and smiled up at this amazing man whom he had chosen.

“I love that about you, Sin. Your energy and ambition knows no bounds.”

“Of course not.” Sinbad trailed his lips from Focalors’ chest to his neck, gazing intently into the others eyes. “I wouldn’t have conquered your dungeon if that wasn’t the case, let alone aid in forging my country.”

“Oh, you _conquered_ me alright.” Focalor said, meeting his kings yearning gaze. “I guess one could say _I’ve_ conquered _you_ on many occasions as well.”

Sinbad barked a laugh, an intense feeling of affection blooming in his chest for his most loyal companion. “Indeed you have.”

“You do realize I expect you to make this up to me once we arrive home. I do not like being denied what is _fully, undoubtedly_ , and _rightfully mine_.” Focalors’ voice deepened and his lips drew closer to his kings with each word.

Unable to resist the sight of his djinn on the palanquins’ red pillow padded floor; his golden and jeweled necklaces astrew across his chest, raven feather hair encompassing his regal head like a halo, and fierce ocher pupils looking up in a half lidded glare of lust, Sinbad lunged down and utterly smothered Focalor.

Sinbad nipped, licked, and sucked on those divine lips as if they were the key to his salvation themselves, enjoying their soft, mailable texture, resuming their previous slow rhythm of rubbing bodies. Focalor nearly couldn’t take it. The mere thought that his king had this much unbridled adoration for him sent him reeling, wanting, wishing to drown in the intoxicating and coy nature that is Sinbad. He moaned shamelessly with each kiss, hands tangling in his kings’ long silky hair.

The wind djinn soon found that what Sinbad had said about him being able to kiss until the end of times may hold truth behind it yet. The palanquin ride would take thirty minutes or so to reach from the outskirts of Reims’ main port to the heart of the Empire, and within the first five, Focalor had sprung loose with all the apparent excess magoi surrounding the empire and taken his kings’ lips in a harsh, desperate kiss. That was ten minutes ago, and Sinbad showed no signs of tiring out.

Not that Focalor would ever complain. It’s just so many feelings and so much stimulation coming from Sinbad all at once, Focalor couldn’t help but pout to himself that they couldn’t drive each other to the edge with pleasure already.

His king could be just as horrible a tease as he, the djinn knew. Focalor cannot recall ever engaging in this much foreplay in his immortal or past mortal life. But _oh_ , is it maddening. Sinbad is always so hot and firm and beautiful against him, and to be denied enjoying that to the fullest created an unbearable tug of war within the djinn. On one hand, Sinbads’ lips are a treasure that Focalor would never refuse the chance to indulge in, but on the other hand, he is dangerously close to tipping over the edge with Sinbads’ body sliding against him and wishes more than anything for his king to climax within him when that happens. 

Then, Focalor realized in a half-sincere moment of embarrassment, Sinbad could most likely feel how hard he is right now, even with both their lower halves concealed.

Yet Sinbad kept going, making good on his vow.

Focalor could swear with each kiss, as sweat began to lightly bead down his ethereal form, his king is stealing magoi away by the second. That could never truly happen, but by Solomon, Focalor felt he is being milked for all he’s worth with Sinbad needn't having to do a thing but claim his lips in a fiery passion over and over and over again.

“My king… _Sinbad_.” Focalor moaned in between the others’ relentless assault. “Sin… you… you’re so very awful, do you know?”

Of course when he drew back the bastard managed to look completely unaffected.

Foclaor wanted to punch him at the cheeky smirk on those flawless lips.

“Aw, Focalor. Surely you’re mistaken?”

“ _Surely_ you can’t be serious? You have a meeting. You’ll have to dismiss yourself, leaving me in such a disheveled and wanting state.”

“Ah yes.” Sinbad playfully said, like he hadn’t the slightest clue to the extent of how hot and bothered his djinn is right now.

He mimicked Focalors’ previous attempt at a gentle grind of hips. Before, it affected neither of them too intensely. But now that Focalor is only a little ways away from plunging off the edge of pleasure, the djinns’ moan was nearly loud enough to reach the horsemen and guards escorting Sinbad to the palace. 

“Shhh.” Sinbad pretended to soothe. “Can’t have anyone become wise as to what we’re doing, can we?”

“Ah- _Awful_.” is all Focalor managed to blurt out, his breathing becoming ragged, the gentle grinding not showing any signs of halting, his whole body begging for release. “ _My king_. You’re _horribly_ awful.”

“I suppose I’m being a bit rude, aren’t I?” Sinbad chuckled lowly, leaning down next to his djinns’ pointed ear, biting at it and then his neck rather hard resulting in more unfiltered sounds of pleasure. 

“When we get back home, I’ll _devour you_ even more before _ramming_ you against the bed and _taking you_ until you scream for the whole kingdom hear, Focalor.”

Then, Sinbad pressed a knee firmly down on Focalors’ long since aching member before quickly moving to cover the djinns’ mouth with his own for the audible wail of climax that followed.

Focalor exploded in mind and body and spirit, feeling a large amount of magoi surround him as his king pressed up against him with domineering force. _He loved it_. He loved Sinbad so very much. He loved these rare moments of role reversal where Sinbad reminded him why he chose him. Of why Sinbad could be the only king for him. 

He loved being reminded who he belonged to.

Solomon had been an amazing king. But Sinbad possessed an aura of ambitious drive of which Focalor had never seen before. Sinbad knew what he wanted and would not step down until he’d achieved his goals.

But he is also very, very kind.

Not even his generals could see past his curse now a day.

But Focalor knew.

He knew that despite falling halfway into disparity, Sinbad would never forsake the citizens of Sindria - the kingdom he forged with his own two hands - in his lifetime. They were his family as were his djinns. The others may not know it or acknowledge it, but Sinbad is truly an untamable force of acceptance and positivity.

He had never lost sight of the bright young boy who conquered Baals’ dungeon all those years ago.

Maybe it’s the post orgasmic high or the way Sinbad was smiling down at him with the clearest sincerity and adoration that made him crumble inside, but Focalor knew throughout every aspect of himself he’d made the right choice and that he’d remain beside his king until the very end.

_He wanted to say it._

What they had was unusual to say the least. A pact between a djinn and a king is a powerful and deep running bond, but Focalor knew as well as Sinbad it wasn’t as simple as that. When intimately close, the air litters with unspoken thoughts and questions neither dare to speak in fear of what new, inconceivable thing could come of it. Sinbad did not wish to commit to something even he couldn’t understand and Focalor was afraid of the possibility of it somehow harming his king and he’d never forgive himself.

So they kiss in place of words, touch instead of asking questions, and pleasure each other in favor of thinking for a moment as to what hung unspoken in that air.

And Focalor was fine with this, and yet…

“Focalor?” Sinbads’ voice pierced through the void of unpleasant thoughts beginning to work their way into the djinns’ mind as his afterglow subsided.

He looked up at his king, Sinbad appearing to shine softly like a flickering candle in the midst of a dim and hopeless world.

“I’m sorry.” He glanced to the side in sheepish guilt. “I didn’t mean to rile you up to the point of dazing off completely.”

Silence. And then. “You’re wonderful.” is all Focalor could manage in the middle of thinking about everything.

And then Sinbad laughed the laugh that made him look flawless and charming beyond belief. “Are you certain I’m not awful?”

The light humor, so like him, is somehow always enough to tether the wind djinn back to the ground.

Focalor met his kings smile with a grin of his own, sighing, and shifting so he could sit upright. His back ached from the flat and constantly rocking surface of the palanquin despite the generously added cushions.

“Oh without a doubt.” Focalor huffed a laugh, finding himself incapable of exerting more energy to show his amusement than that. He then leaned forward to kiss his king as they both felt the palanquins’ wheels gradually begin to slow.

Only this time, he did something new.

Focalor cupped his kings’ face in both hands before drawing in only inches away from his face. Sinbad, quick to reciprocate, began to lean as well, but was stopped by his djinns’ hands, a look of curiosity forming on his features. Focalor smiled at this, his blue thumbs tracing over tanned skin diligently, studying it as if it were the most marvelous of wonders. Focalor looked into Sinbads’ eyes. Not in a playful or teasing manner like he would normally, though. He just _looked_ at him, _truly_ looked at this amazing man he called king. His right thumb moved to gently ghost over Sinbads’ bottom lip with a tenderness so transparent that the King of Sindria felt a part of him melt inside.

Chaste wouldn’t be the correct word to describe this kiss. Chaste implies a simplicity and restraint that could never exist between these two potent forces of power. Intimate is a better word, implying a familiar closeness. 

It is intimate. Very intimate. More intimate than any other touch of lips or hands or body they’ve experienced thus far, and Focalor relished in it. 

He relished in the feeling of being separate yet a part of his king all at once.

He relished in the feeling of his king.

He loves his king.

_He loves Sinbad._

It is an intimate kiss, but also a _loving_ kiss. One that hopefully spoke more words on how Focalor felt than he’d ever have the courage to say despite yearning to every single day.

The palanquin has slowed considerably, marking their arrival at the Palatial Gates of Reim.

Unfortunately for Sinbad, he doesn’t think he’ll have much luck in getting so much as a word out of his mouth because of the blank state his mind is now in. However, he could hardly complain. He’s never been kissed by anyone like this. He’s never felt like another's' very soul had been bared to him by just touching lips (albeit enthusiastically). He is utterly and completely awestruck by this new… _act_ , and questions bubble in his throat and he opened his mouth to ask one of a thousand only for Focalor to press a fingertip to his lips.

A faint blush appeared on Sinbads’ cheeks at this. For the first time as well, feeling like he’s _really looking_ at his marvelous djinn, all Sinbad wanted to do is sit in this palanquin until dusk with Focalor in his arms, card his fingers through this ethereal entitys' gorgeously soft feathery hair, and tell him again and again how much he means to him.

“Later, my king.” Focalor said before evaporating into a thin veil of blue fog that siphoned back into Sinbads’ silver bracelet.

Touching the warmed metal, Sinbad couldn’t help but ponder what exactly Focalor meant as the palanquin jutted to a complete stop.

Sinbad will certainly make good on his promise to his djinn, but what else? What was that unforeseen look in Focalors’ eyes after he’d drawn back from kissing him as if to merge souls with him? Is that what Focalor meant by “later?” Is there something he wishes to discuss? Surely Focalor knows he can talk with him anytime.

Stepping out of the palanquin and into the pleasant warmth of the sun rays Reim is renowned for, Sinbad, King of Sindria and forger of the Seven Seas Allegiance, mustered up every last ounce of a diplomatic facadé he could manage before stepping past the threshold of the palace gates, feeling the temperature of Focalors’ metal vessel cool with each passing moment.

He sensed a building metamorphosis between himself and Focalor since they entered that palanquin and _had_ to find out what changed in the span of a _measly half hour._

Or if anything had changed at all.

Be it the former or the later, this meeting is no doubt going to prove to be his most grueling task of diplomacy yet with his now cluttered and relentlessly churning mind.


End file.
